Dark Fantasy
by Proteus DMC
Summary: There is a fine line between love and hate.  Sometimes you have to cross the line to find what you really need.
1. Chapter 1

Aerith was gone: dead at _his_ hands. Tifa had always wanted to believe that somehow, some way, she watched over them. Not today.

Aerith deserved better than that.

The dawn light cast black shadows across the wooden floor and walls of Seventh Heaven, creating an eerie landscape of her own bar. Gone was the calming, centering place. Not now in the lucid half-light. She seemed in an altogether different world from which she woke into alone, upstairs.

And then there was his presence.

She had not seen his silhouette or heard him enter. Only silver hair splayed across her shoulder and the brush of hot, black leather against her bared skin revealed him. He breathed against the back of her neck and the air from his lungs' unexpected cool sent goosepimples down her spine and up her arms to her wrists; clenched together by only his left hand.

She struggled against his steely grip. Her heart raced. She never appreciated his incredible strength. Not until now.

His voice startled her in its smoothness. "Hello Ms. Lockhart."

The voice sent a jolt through her heart. It evoked ancient emotions and wounds, thought long-passed, but suddenly fresh. "Sephiroth?"

"I have missed seeing you, you precious thing."

Tifa shrugged backwards against his form, slender and lean; a stack of granite-hard muscle. She jerked her arms to pull them away; to have anything with which she could fight. He clenched tighter. He was immovable and he had disabled her best weapon.

She tried to turn to him. He pressed down against her; her face flush to the bar. Something stirred against her outer thigh. She hoped it was his hand. When he brushed his fingertips across her back, through the thin fabric of her tank top, she realized it was not.

Her heart raced with every fleeting touch from fleshy fingertips and black leather. "What are you doing here?"

He whispered into her ear. "I wanted to try you."

Her heart skipped and raced. The jolt of his voice evoked intense feeling that coalesced into a knot in her abdomen.

Fleshy fingertips brushed up her black miniskirt, swirling across the bumps of her weathered, flushed skin. They slithered across the crease between her legs; felt it through thin fabric.

Tifa inhaled. "Stop or I'll scream."

His tongue traced a path across her earlobe. "Believe me, Ms. Lockhart. I would love nothing more than to make you scream."

Each wriggle against his grip pressed him deeper against her; into her. And then he moved the fabric.

Tifa gasped. It was as though he were reaching towards the knot in her abdomen. The jolt through her body intensified. She closed her legs, but that only clutched him within her. The ease with which he explored her suggested the emotions and wounds his voice and touch evoked had other effects.

"To think _I_ could do this to you," he said. "You're a naughty girl."

She opened her mouth to protest, but what was there to protest? He knew exactly how to touch her, and his touch made electricity surge through her extremities.

He withdrew from her. She tried to shift up and away from the bar, but he increased the tension on her arms, holding her down. His right hand grasped her panties. She widened the span of her legs, struggled to keep them on. He pulled harder. They ripped and floated to the floor. Tifa felt the cool air of the bar in the early morning against her moistness.

He braced her waist. "This belt you wear. So loose. It is useless." She knew he was smirking. "I think I have thought of a use for it…"

He released her hands only to catch them again roughly and yank them behind her back. Her belt was undone in seconds. It latched across her skin; bound her at her wrists.

"Stop," she whimpered. "Please…"

He pressed his body against hers. Through the smooth leather of his pants she felt his intent. And then he lifted her—hoisted her, onto her side across the bar. Wisps of silver hair dangled across her face. She could see his familiar face now—his familiar smirk. His arms coiled around her thighs, prying her open; exposing her.

"What are you going to do to me?" She whispered.

"Only give you a kiss…"

He slid her waist across the bar and brought her to his lips. His tongue parted her.

She struggled against her own belt, grasping at nothing, scratching against the flat, smooth wood of the bar. With only her shoulders and sore elbows grounded, the blood rushed to her head. He had complete control over her mobility. Even her voice was no longer her own. The swirling of his serpentine tongue rendered her breathless. The knot within her tightened and clenched until tingling warmth spread across her body. She tried to scream, but it only came out as a stifled gasp.

He released her hips and she tumbled to her side, panting, flushed from head to toe. She watched him, quivering and bound in a puddle of moisture.

"You, my dear, are a delicacy."

He lifted her tank top to her collar bone. Her voluptuous breasts fell free, their tips narrowing to points.

"You have the most perfect breasts in the world, Tifa…" His voice drifted into a loving lilt.

Tifa flashed him a puzzled look.

His expression blanked. "You _are_ a delicious catch, Ms. Lockhart." He drew her legs open again and met no resistance from her jelly-like muscles.

"What are you going to do to me now?" she whispered.

"I will find enjoyment with you." He opened the leather of his pants and fell free. She could not see, but she was aware of his warmth near her, against her, and then inside of her.

Tifa looked away from him, distracted by the light of the rising sun through the windows. Birds chirped outside. The inhale and exhale of her breath coincided with his thrust and draw. Only in that moment, did she appreciate the unreality of the morning. The guilt over her climax was real enough, but so was her pleasure. Her fear was real as well. More real than she thought it would be.

She loved Cloud dearly. Of that there could be doubt. But after the newness of their relationship and lovemaking faded, she grasped his inability to fix her broken heart; for she was a broken person. They both were. She had known so much pain in her life. So much anger. So much fear.

He destroyed her village. He killed her father. He murdered her best friend. When she remembered, she became a quivering ball of rage with a stomach-churning knot in the pit of her soul. She had only ever been able to untangle it with Cloud's help.

Then she learned the anger and fear excited her; aroused her. To be evoked and extinguished made her feel complete. Only in the face of death did she feel so alive.

Her heart belonged to Cloud to be sure, but in place of his soft, gentle heart, she sometimes yearned for strength and resolve. She needed someone who would not ask for her, but take her: take her in a raw animalistic act, spread across the Seventh Heaven bar in the diminutive light of dawn.

"You'll never get away with this," Tifa said.

"And who will you tell, Miss Lockhart? Who will you tell that you allowed me to come so close? That you barely struggled? That you allowed me to take you and release inside of you?"

The knot in her loins untangled into one of the most intense orgasms in her entire life.

* * *

Tifa still quivered as she fastened the buckle across her waist. The form behind her stirred.

"Sorry about the panties," he said. "I got carried away."

Tifa turned. The silver hair was bundled between his arms. She smiled a shaky smile. "It's okay, Cloud. That was…" There were no words.

His eyes were wide from disbelief in his own actions. He was a kind man: kind enough never to question the mysteries of her sexuality. Almost never. "Did you really want to do that again sometime?"

Tifa's burgundy eyes flashed. "I guess we should pick up Denzel and Marlene from Elmyra's place soon. Elmyra asked me the other day when we'd be returning Aerith's pink dress…"

Cloud's eyes widened more. He blushed. "You got me there."

Tifa laughed.

"Maybe we should return it soon," Cloud said. "You know… it's only eight. And we told Elmyra it would be noon…"

Tifa's eyes lowered to the taught, stretched black leather of the costume's pants. "What…? You want me to wear her dress again right _now_?"

Cloud put the wig back on and smirked. It was so much like one of _his_ smirks.

Tifa wondered if somewhere in the Lifestream _he_ was watching. And she hoped more than ever _she_ was not.

* * *

A/N: Happy Halloween! ^_^


	2. Omake

_A/N: The "twist" in Dark Fantasy was so absurd (even by my standards), it inspired a few spinoff ideas. Think of these as "outtakes."_

* * *

**Omake**

**1  
**

All's fair in love and war. That was what they said, but sometimes she pushed the boundaries of fairness. Like when she attacked him in his sleep. She was a sexual girl and she had a playful streak. She only sometimes took the play too far. This was one of those times.

It was the only time he could ever remember nearly turning her away, such was his shock, but how could he resist those soulful eyes? That heavenly body? Those burgundy lips? He loved the way they pouted. He loved the way they lifted to a dimpled smile. He loved the way they molded to him; from his lips to his collar bone, to his shallow nipples, to his girth.

He had been her first and she had learned on him: how to receive his full length; how to know from a glint in his eyes what to do with her tongue; how to push him to the edge and then pull him away when she wanted to play with him.

He could never say no to her when she had him in the palm of her hand, and more, like that. When she had him like this, he would do whatever she wanted and she could do to him whatever she wanted. And she knew it.

He tried not to look directly at her and instead focus on the bedroom ceiling and the early morning light filtering in through the window shade. He tried to focus on sounds of wet suction and release-the dance of lips and fingers across the most sensitive place on his body.

It did not take much-a clenching of her lips-a flick of her tongue across his nub. He clenched his sheets and released in spasming, shuddering, blinding pleasure.

She swallowed every last drop.

"To think I could do that to you," she said in a voice that was not quite her own. "You are a naughty boy, Cloud Strife."

Cloud smiled a patient smile. "That was amazing, Tifa, but could you please take off that wig?"

Tifa shook her head and strands of silver hair brushed across Cloud's hips. "Now now, Cloud. Is that any way to address your superior officer?"

* * *

**2**

They had only been friends. Best friends to be sure, but only friends. Tifa's mistake had been one day reminiscing with Cloud about how "sexy" she was. How could she have known _that_ had been a fantasy of his?

She had been curious for a time: curious about what Cloud saw in her. In Aerith, Tifa saw many things she was not; could never be. A part of her, a small part, always longed to be the kind of girl who could wear pink dresses, ribbons, and bracelets. Tifa knew men found her attractive—just not in that way. Tifa knew she had forfeited the ability to look frilly and dainty once and for all by training with Zangan. Forever after, her skin would be toughened and her joints knotted.

To Cloud or any man, she would never have Aerith's deliciously tender flesh for the tightly-coiled muscles spanning her body. She would never be able to replicate her jovial laugh or the way when she ate and drank, she never dropped so much as a crumb or spilled a drop.

They loved each other in their own way: different from how they both loved Cloud. Tifa loved the way Aerith took her by the hand and confided in her in a way no girl had ever dared confide in her before: the strange girl who lived in the mountains and could beat any boy or grown man in Nibelheim in a fair fight.

Her femininity was contagious and overwhelming. Tifa figured out why men loved her. In the process of longing to be what Aerith was, Tifa found herself, if only a little, longing for _her_.

She saw the way her eyes brightened whenever she spoke to him. She saw how special that delicate smile of hers made him feel. Sometimes she wondered what it would have felt like to have that smile to herself. If only she had been a little more open-minded and adventuresome and less in love with _him_.

To know from her eyes she, her best friend, brought her such joy. To have her lips smile for her; to have them explore every intimate crevice of her body.

It was always a fleeting fantasy and one she never, ever admitted to Cloud.

Somehow the smug bastard just knew.

On top of it all, he just looked so _hot_ in a dress.

The pink outfit did not necessarily fit him, but it was a remarkable illusion in a certain light. He knelt with his face at the junction of her legs and withdrew, leaving her satisfied but needing more.

"So naughty, Tifa," the figure said. "I found this in your drawer…" From by his side, he revealed it. "You've had this coming for a long while…"

It began to vibrate.

Tifa whimpered. "Not Mr. Mookie… Please…"

Cloud turned it off and sat upright. "Wait, you gave it a name?"

* * *

**3**

It was possible to cry within the lifestream. When she cried, her tears melted into the fluid ether that brought vigor and life to the planet itself.

Zack chuckled. "Don't cry, Babe. Look! They're doing us next!"

Cloud adjusted the black wig and Tifa struggled to fit back into the too-tight pink dress.

"You know," Zack said, "She was always kinda quiet and weird… but I always thought if only you and I hadn't been together… and if I couldn't have been arrested… What? I'm just being honest."

Aerith cried more.

* * *

**4**

When Cloud got home from his delivery, he did not find anyone in Seventh Heaven… which was strange. Marlene and Denzel were nowhere to be seen. Was someone else watching them? Tifa usually lingered by the bar. As reclusive as she was, she needed the company of others in ways she could never herself articulate. She seemed to thrive in the residual energy of the restaurant long after others left. On this night, there was no one.

A sound like the rustling of soft fabric upstairs piqued his attention. He rested his hand on his Buster Sword as a matter of habit. The sound came again as he walked as quietly as possible up the creaking stairs. It came from his room.

He opened the door cautiously. He knew the chances of anything harming him were slim. He was never a man to leave anything to chance.

She lay strewn across the bed, hair splayed as though she had fallen and refused to stand. Locks of black hair and a red cape left nothing to Cloud's imagination. Apart from the cape, she wore only sheer white gloves, tan leather work boots, and a golden tiara.

And then there were the cat-ears.

Her crimson-brown smile and her crimson-brown eyes were almost feline in that moment when she pivoted onto her hips, propped her head on her hand, and parted her legs such that he could see traces of moist pink past her soft, black down.

"Would you like me to read your fortune, sir?" she purred.

Cloud felt strange talking to Reeve for days after.

* * *

**5**

When Cloud got home from his delivery, he did not find anyone in Seventh Heaven… which was strange. Marlene and Denzel were nowhere to be seen. Was someone else watching them? Tifa usually lingered by the bar. As reclusive as she was, she needed the company of others in ways she could never herself articulate. She seemed to thrive in the residual energy of the restaurant long after others left. On this night, there was no one.

A sound like the rustling of soft fabric upstairs piqued his attention. He rested his hand on his Buster Sword as a matter of habit. The sound came again as he walked as quietly as possible up the creaking stairs. It came from his room.

He opened the door cautiously. He knew the chances of anything harming him were slim. He was never a man to leave anything to chance.

She lay strew across the bed, but Cloud hardly recognized her for the wash of bright yellow. Her midriff was exposed. She had a good one and she knew it. Otherwise, the costume was covered in pastel plumage. Only the stockings in two tones of bright orange and a hooded beak broke the color.

She rolled onto her back. The plumage extended from her back no longer concealed her most secret place. She smiled a blissful smile.

"_Kweh,_" she whispered.

Cloud swallowed. "I think I need a drink for this…"

* * *

**6**

She emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. She spoke in a voice equal-parts sultry and coy. "What do you think?"

Cloud gaped and drooled. He could not take his eyes off of her outfit for the longest time. "Are you sure that's the outfit you wore when we arrived in Nibelheim?"

It was not the response she had expected. "Well… yeah. It is. Why?"

Cloud stammered. "Well... I guess it's just not like I'd remembered it."

Tifa appraised the old outfit, befitting the no-nonsense country girl she had been long ago. "You don't like it?"

"No, I do. It's just that I don't remember it being so…" He glanced downward and she knew he was trying not to stare at her cleavage. "Bold."

"Really? I thought that's why you wanted me to wear it."

"Well, I'm glad you did. It makes you look so much more…"

Tifa grinned and arched her back, bent towards him, almost nose-to-nose. The white top barely contained her. "Hm?"

"Bountiful."

"Well… remember I haven't worn it since I was fifteen."

"Yeah… But I can see your belly."

"Right," Tifa said. "It was always like that."

Cloud tried not to push these issues. He attributed it to mako scrambling his brain on several occasions: his long-term memory was nowhere near as clear as hers. Still, he was certain about this. "Really? I thought it went down to your skirt."

"No. It was always really short."

"I remember it being more of a shirt than a corset. And how about the vest? I don't remember the tassel."

Tifa sat on the bed. "Yeah?"

"And that belt with the turquoise buckle. It's too ostentatious for work duds. And it's not actually holding your skirt up. You couldn't have been wearing something like this back then."

Tifa frowned. "I used to go with the simple-is-best approach to clothing most of the time, huh? It isn't like what I usually wore."

Cloud tugged at her miniskirt: cut scandalously low from above and scandalously high from below. "I could have sworn this came at least to mid-thigh. And I thought the boots were plain leather."

Tifa sighed. "Look, do you want to fuck me in this or not?"

Cloud's eyes widened. "Of course."

Tifa's face softened. "Good." She leaned towards him and kissed him with a light, brushing kiss—slow and sensual—tentative and naïve—everything a first kiss should have been. She tugged the infantryman's scarf and leather suspenders.

"Why do you want me to wear this?" he said.

She pulled him into her: embraced him—enveloped him. "I never wanted you for anything other than what you were."

* * *

_A/N 2: Happy Halloween again ^_^_


End file.
